I’ve had enough. Enough of scraping ice off the windshield. Enough of shivering in the morning while the car heater wheezes out cold air. Enough of waddling around in layers like a marshmallow who’s late for work. I am done.
I’ve decided I’m leaving. I’m packing up, hopping on a plane, and flying far, far away. Somewhere warm. Somewhere sunny. Somewhere where I don’t have to contemplate the logistics of wearing six pairs of socks just to keep my toes from turning into popsicles.
I’m not stopping at just a plane ride, either. Oh no. I’m getting on a ship. A big one. One with a pool and a deck and drinks with little umbrellas that scream, You’re on vacation, and no one can bother you now. I’ll wave goodbye to the shore and keep going until all I see is blue ocean and sunshine. Just me and my family, sailing away from responsibilities and alarm clocks.
I know what you’re thinking. But what about work? What about bills? What about adult responsibilities? To which I say: they’ll survive without me. Probably. I’ve left my out-of-office email message vague enough that no one will be entirely sure if I’m gone for a week or forever. It’s better that way.
I can picture it now: lounging on a beach chair, the sun warming my face, the sound of waves gently rolling in. No deadlines. No meetings. No icy sidewalks to navigate like I’m training for the Winter Olympics. Just sand, sea, and a drink in my hand that tastes like freedom.
Will I come back? I mean, probably. Eventually. I don’t think they let you live on a cruise ship indefinitely, and my kid is too young to get a job as a towel boy. But for at least one glorious week, I’m gone. Poof. Vanished. A mirage in the snowstorm.
So if you need me, too bad. I’m busy. Busy doing nothing in the sun, busy sipping something fruity, busy forgetting what winter even feels like.
I’m going away, and I’m not coming back…
*look at his wallet*
*sigh*
I’ll see you all in March…
The CJBuzz 